Page 82 of Stuck with Me

About halfway through the movie, everyone except for me is passed out. I catch up on some work on my phone now that we have power again. I need to put in a supplies order for the café and I have timecards to approve.

When I’ve finished, the movie continues to play but I’m barely paying attention. Inside my head is Nico. Nico. Nico.

“Ugh,” I groan, and push my fingers into my eyes.

I play a little game with myself and keep track of how many minutes I can go without glancing down the hall. But I become hyper focused on the hallway, that I completely forget to even count the minutes. Or maybe it’s because there becomes no lag in between the times I crane my neck to look.

In my head, my conscience is debating. Do I sneak away and tiptoe down the hall and knock on Nico’s door to see if he’s okay? Or do I say fuck him, and enjoy what’s left of the movie and my delicious eggnog and take my favorite vibrator to bed with me?

My mind settles with searching for Nico’s profile on Instagram. It doesn’t take long to find him because I did this once before. Right after he first contacted me. It looks like an average profile. His picture is of the back of him. He’s wearing in a cowboy hat and leaned against a fence, dressed in a pair of tight Wranglers that hug his ass so perfectly I’m practically drooling.

Okay, so his profile is better than average. On paper, he appears to be the total package. A good-looking Texan who can fill out a pair of jeans nicely. A respectable job as a cattle rancher. A family guy.

The further I scroll through his pictures, the more my insides clench. The memory of that smiling face peering up at me from between my thighs. Those large hands, strong and capable of making me fall apart. Desire pools between my legs and I squeeze my legs together subconsciously.

From my peripheral, Nico’s bedroom light flickers off and I clamber off the couch, suddenly feeling like if I don’t go now, I never will. I rush down the hall on tip toes. When I reach his door, I exhale a shaky breath.

You can still back away. Just go upstairs and go to bed.

I knock on his door softly and whisper, “Hey, you still awake?”

Shit.

I’ve never been one for following the rules. Even if they were my own.

CHAPTER23

Nico

For once in my life, it’s as if my luck has turned around.Because holy shit, Rosie is knocking on my bedroom door.

“Yeah,” I mumble, the word nearly getting stuck on the rising lump in my throat.

She turns the knob and pops her head inside the cracked door, her brown eyes saying so much. I both love and hate that I know this already.

“What’s up? You okay?” I whisper from the bed.

“I was checking if you were okay?” she says softly.

I exhale a heavy breath. “I’m okay, Kit-Kat, go on up to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

What the hell are you saying, you fucking idiot!

She bites her lower lip. Her expression shifts, almost as if I’ve just slapped her with my words. I know it’s not the response she was hoping for. It’s not the response I planned to give her. The words just tumbled out of my mouth without intention. I want to swallow them back up. I don’t want her to leave me. Ever.

“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” there’s a thickness to her voice and I hate that I’ve caused it.

Sighing, I feel myself giving into her persistence, and I sit on the edge of the bed. “I had another panic attack, out there…in the snow.” I say the words like a confession. Though I don’t know why. I’m not embarrassed. But for some reason, it still feels shameful.

Rosie pushes the door open and enters the room in a rush. “Oh Nico, I’m sorry.” She bumps her legs into my knees and rests her palm on my cheek, her eyes dancing with mine.

But I don’t want her pity. “Don’t pity me.”

“I don’t…I would never. Nico…I hate that you were out there all alone. I’m so sorry.”

My throat thickens and I fight back the clawing emotions working their way up. “I thought I was going to die this time.” I force a bitter chuckle. “How fucked up is that? I know a panic attack can’t kill me, and still.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t try to minimize how you felt. That shit has to be scary.”

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